


Protection

by magistrainartis



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-21 09:17:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3686757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magistrainartis/pseuds/magistrainartis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Fenris learns Hawke has travelled to Weisshaupt, he'll follow no matter what the danger. However, what greets him in the stronghold is far more frightening than any threats along the road.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Elf,_

_When Hawke taught you to read, I figured he must have really been interested in you (or at least really wanted to get you back in bed). Never thought it would save my neck. Or my heart, because I’ve got a feeling my heart would be in serious danger of leaving my chest if I had to tell you in person that I’ve known where Hawke’s been for the past while. You can be a bit reactive. You know that, right?_

The cottage was empty, the fire was ash, and the spiders had already invaded the corners by the time Fenris returned. A single page rested on the bed - a single page of explanation when he’d been expecting Hawke to welcome him home. It had been three weeks since they’d parted. Fenris had heard whispers that slavers had been sighted in the Ferelden Hinterlands, preying on the refugees driven from their homes by the mage/templar war. He’d all but begged Hawke to join him. So much time had passed since Kirkwall and the fighting had escalated so greatly that surely any blame had been wiped away and people would be happy to see the Champion fighting for their freedom. But the haunted look that had gradually crept into Hawke’s eyes hadn’t faded. Fenris had seen a change in his lover over the past months; the once-confident warrior had become uncertain and hesitant. Rather than joining Fenris on short slaver-hunting excursions, Hawke would ask him not to go, not to put himself in danger. Fenris feared slavers no more than he feared butterflies, but each time he returned from the hunt, Hawke held him a little tighter. This time, however, there was no homecoming, no welcome to their hidden cottage away from prying eyes and questioning minds.

Fenris picked up the note and scanned it quickly. _Wish I could bring you…too dangerous...you’d kill yourself for me...not worth it...I won’t risk you...I love you...I’m sorry._ Fenris’ stomach clenched and his mind raced. Where had Hawke gone? Who was he with? How could he leave him here, alone, with so little explanation?

Mindlessly, Fenris dropped the page and marched from the cottage, grasping his sword on the way out. The weapon became a familiar extension of his body as he stalked into the grove outside and began swinging at anything and everything nearby. As each sapling fell and each bird took flight, Fenris’ mind raced. He’d once told Hawke he couldn’t imagine life without him. Now he was forced to. Was he to wait here, like a doting spouse, ever-hopeful that his love would return? Hardly. Fenris sheathed his sword and went back inside. Mechanically, he threw together what remained of his supplies. If Hawke didn’t need him - didn’t want him - he could very well find innocent refugees who did need him. Silent tears streamed down his cheeks as he left their home behind and headed south.

_So yeah. Hawke’s been in Skyhold for the past few weeks helping the Inquisition. He’s gone now, heading to Weisshaupt, and he wants to you know. I’m staying here for a while. I need to see this through. The Seeker and I are never going to be best friends, but since she held off the thumbscrews I’ve decided not to poison her. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone where you are - just some vague info about a trail of corpses._

Fenris had been at camp, roasting a freshly-killed rabbit and cleaning slavers’ blood from his armour, when the messenger found him. The poor lad’s hand visibly shook as he struggled with his satchel and pulled out the letter bearing House Tethras’ seal. Fenris’ appetite evaporated, and his own hand trembled as he reached for the letter. He’d numbly invited the messenger to camp with him for the night. As the boy turned his attention to unloading his horse, Fenris slipped into the forest. When he was out of sight and earshot of the camp, he gathered all his courage and broke the wax seal. If this letter was going to tell him of Hawke’s death, he needed to get it over with.

Fenris’ heart rose with each word. Hawke was alive. He’d been with Varric - who was, indeed, very fortunate to have delivered this news via messenger rather than showing up himself - and they had escaped Adamant alive. But Weisshaupt? Of all places, why had Hawke headed to the Grey Warden stronghold far to the north? The question plagued Fenris as he read and re-read Varric’s letter. In the end, it didn’t matter why Hawke had gone north. Fenris knew where he was, and he’d be damned if he didn’t follow.

_Maybe you’ve already heard about Adamant. Anything they’re saying about the Inquisitor and Hawke falling into the Fade is true. I was there. So was a Fear demon. The things we saw...I can’t start to tell you. I think we all saw something different, but the demon had fun tormenting Hawke in particular. It told Hawke you’d die and there was nothing he could do about it. You’d think something like that would roll right off Hawke, right? But he was beyond scared. He was half paralyzed. He could barely hold his sword by the end of that fight, and I’m pretty sure if the Inquisitor hadn’t insisted he get out with the rest of us, he’d have died in there._

Fenris had re-read Varric’s letter so many times it was in tatters. He’d known before Hawke had left him that his once-fearless, confident, and charming lover had withdrawn into himself. Each time he’d returned from an excursion, Fenris had noticed Hawke’s eyes growing dimmer and the lines on his brow cutting deeper. If Varric was worried, he was doubly so.

But now Fenris was nearly there. Taking mercenary work when he needed to, he’d journeyed across the Waking Sea and followed the Minanter River west, then northwest, eschewing the Imperial Highway in favour of lesser-travelled roads. The irony of taking work as a bodyguard, usually to merchants, as he approached Tevinter was not lost on Fenris, but each job, and each step, brought him closer to Hawke.

On this final push to Weisshaupt, he’d agreed to protect a small band of Wardens: one commander and three new recruits who’d recently survived the Joining. He chafed at their slow pace through the relentless dust. They couldn’t be more than half a day’s journey from the fortress rising amid the steppes, but the green recruits all had rot-foot and could walk for only short bursts. Fenris himself had long ago donned thick leather boots made for the rocky terrain and a woven travelling cloak which kept out the worst of the dust. He wasn't about to let this wasteland claim him, but he couldn't say the same for the ragged Wardens. He could protect them from wolves and raiders, but there was little his sword could do against the incessant wind and frigid nights.

Fenris knew he wouldn't be able to sleep so close to his journey’s end, so he gladly took a double watch. For hours, the only sounds were the wind moaning through the rocks and the groans of the men whose decaying feet tormented them even as they slept. Fenris hoped for their sake that Weisshaupt housed skilled healers. As it was, they were little better off than wounded animals, easy prey for bandits who didn’t realize Wardens carried little of value during peacetime. By far the most valuable item in this camp was Fenris’ Blade of Mercy, and raiders would have to take it from his corpse.

A branch snapped; Fenris stood and pivoted toward the sound, his blade ready. As if they’d heard his thoughts, a group of bandits stepped into the firelight. Grimly, Fenris counted their number. Three times their own, not counting the fact that the recruits were all but helpless. This would be bloody.

Fenris edged toward the sleeping Warden leader and nudged her awake with his foot. Fenris briefly regretted never asking the woman’s name; he was impressed by how quickly the Warden readied her bow and barked the recruits to attention. In a flash, the bandits were on them. After many years, such skirmishes had become a dance for Fenris - place the foot, jab with the elbow, pierce with the blade, spin, blade through the skull, pivot left, destroy a knee, draw on the markings, reach inside a chest, squeeze. When the last bandit lay dead beneath his sword, Fenris turned to survey the carnage. Two of the recruits lay dead. _Better to die here by the sword than in bed from gangrene_ , Fenris thought. Their leader lay nearby, panting, with a dagger thrust through her gut. Fenris shook his head as he approached the woman. The Warden was unable to speak, but her eyes begged Fenris not to leave her to die. It was done quickly, and the Warden lay dead with her men.

One recruit remained huddled against a nearby outcropping. _Coward_ , Fenris thought. _He’s only alive because they thought he’d run off_. The recruit pressed himself closer to the rock as Fenris approached him, his markings blazing with anger. He’d almost reached the young Warden when Fenris felt himself thrown to the ground. Dazed, he tried to stand, but his head swam so terribly he was forced to his knees. Blood dripped to the ground in front of him; Fenris reached up to his chest and pulled his hand away reddened.

The unexpected attack brought the Warden back to his senses. Quickly, he nocked an arrow to his bow, scanned the terrain, and let fly. A strangled scream followed as a bandit hiding on the overhang fell to the rocks below, an arrow through his head.

Fenris clutched his chest where the hilt of the bandit’s dagger protruded. _No. Not here. I’m too close. No._ Remaining as still as possible, he beckoned the recruit to him. The young Warden approached cautiously.

“Take my map. I won’t make it to the fortress like this. I need you to go and tell them where I am.” His hand shaking, Fenris removed his gauntlet and pressed a bloody fingerprint to the map. “This is our location. It’s not far.”

The recruit straightened, focused now that he had a clear purpose. “I can take that out-”

“ _No_.” Fenris rasped, glaring at the Warden. It missed my heart, or I’d be dead. I will be dead if you remove it here. Just go find help.” As the Warden hastily gathered his belongings, Fenris rasped, “Take my boots. You’ll take too long if you try to walk in those,” he gestured weakly at the Warden’s tattered shoes. Reluctantly, the Warden pulled off Fenris’ boots, trying not to move the elf who was turning paler by the minute. Before leaving, the recruit had the foresight to remove his dead commander’s cloak and drape it over Fenris’ shoulders. Fenris didn’t watch the recruit walk away; he remained focused on his breathing and on pushing aside his fears. He didn’t fear death, but the thought of Hawke finding out he’d come so close…. Wrenching his mind from such thoughts, Fenris conjured a memory of himself and Hawke lying in bed as the sun peeked through the cottage windows, of feeling safe and loved as they held each other, moved against each other and within each other, in the early morning. The memory of Hawke’s embrace comforted Fenris as he slipped into darkness.

 _Don’t get killed on your way up there, alright? You still haven’t paid me back for our last hand, but I’m willing to let you try to win back your dignity._ _-Varric_

Pain ripped Fenris from his blissful nonexistence and back to the world. He weakly struggled against the hands pinning him still as the steel was slowly pulled from his chest. Then, healing magic warmed him as it knitted his flesh, draining the last of his strength in the process. As he slipped back into unconsciousness, a familiar, yet somehow unsettling voice murmured soothingly in Fenris’ ear, but he couldn’t make out the words as the darkness claimed him again.

When he awoke, Fenris found himself in a proper bed, under thick quilts. Every movement took all his strength, so Fenris allowed his eyes to travel slowly around the room. The stone walls were adorned with tapestries depicting griffon-mounted Wardens.  A weapons rack beside the door stood empty, as did an armour mannequin.

Turning his head, Fenris saw he was not alone. He gasped and bolted upright. The sudden movement triggered a coughing fit; Anders laid a hand on Fenris’ bare chest and wordlessly relieved the spasm.

When he’d regained control of his breathing, Fenris glared at the mage he’d hoped to never see again. “Is Hawke still here?”

Anders nodded, his exasperation clear. “He’s been out on a mission for the past week, but he’ll be back tomorrow. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Fenris laid his head back on the pillow. He had to admit he’d likely be dead without the mage’s help. “I’m sorry. I was just...surprised. I heard most of the Warden mages died at Adamant.”

“Only the Wardens in Orlais. I was already up here, so I didn’t hear the Calling. Lucky for you.”

Fenris nodded. “Right. Thank you. I mean it.”

Anders nodded, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Hawke told me you’d mellowed a bit - that you don’t automatically want to murder anyone carrying a staff.”

Fenris held back the retort that sprang to his lips, and instead looked up to see Anders was actually smiling at him good-naturedly. “It seems you’ve changed too. Not too many years ago you’d have let me die. Still an abomination, though, I take it?”

Anders’ smile faded, and he nodded brusquely. “Again, lucky for you. Justice likes you. When the Wardens hauled you in here, they called for me right away. I thought you were a corpse, but Justice wouldn’t give me any peace until I had a closer look at you. Sure enough, you’re still a tough bastard. Good thing, too. Gloating over your corpse wouldn't be nearly as fun with Hawke sobbing."

Fenris grimaced as he raised himself on his elbows. He met Anders' eyes. "I don't know how much Hawke has told you. He left me behind. I'm here because Varric wrote to me, not because Hawke asked me to be here." Fenris' voice broke off and he laid back down. The thought that Hawke might not want him here was too heavy.

In response, Anders smiled wryly and shook his head. "You'll never deserve him. Do you have any clue how terrified Hawke is that you'll march into a fight with him and not come out of it? The way I see it, you've sucked every bit of joy out of him." Anders paused. Fenris didn't speak, but the guilt in his eyes told Anders he'd struck too deep. "Sorry. I didn't mean that. Hawke's just so...different. That spark is gone. I hate to say it, but I hope to the Maker that you can bring him back."

The two remained quiet for a time, each lost in his thoughts. When Fenris began coughing again, Anders wordlessly helped him turn onto his side, pressed one palm to his chest and the other between his shoulders, and sent healing magic radiating through his body. Fenris whispered his thanks as he drifted to sleep.

_P.S. I know Hawke’s your rock, Broody, but I think he’s going to need you. Try not to rip out his heart when you get up north, alright? I mostly mean that figuratively._

A hand on his chest, but no magic. Was someone crying? Fenris struggled into wakefulness; his eyes were barely open when Hawke began kissing his face and mouth. His relief at seeing Hawke overwhelmed any anger, and Fenris returned the kisses feverishly. When Hawke pulled back to look at him, Fenris was shocked at the change in his lover. Where Hawke had looked tired and less like himself when Fenris had last seen him, he was now a different man. Deep shadows had taken root beneath Hawke's once-sparkling eyes. The lines around his mouth seemed sharper. Far from the well-nourished, well-muscled warrior whose body Fenris knew so well, Hawke had become gaunt and pale. Fenris reached up to stroke Hawke's hollow cheek. Hawke responded by burying his face in Fenris' chest. The sobs that wracked Hawke's body broke Fenris’ heart. He'd received comfort and support from Hawke countless times. Now, he gently stroked Hawke's hair and let him cry.

"I'm alright. I made a stupid mistake, but I'm healing. It's alright, Hawke. Garrett...I'm here. I'm right here."

Hawke looked up, haggard. "You almost weren't here. Not alive. Thank the Maker for Anders. If he hadn't been here...it would have been my fault. Understand? If you'd died it would have been my fault. Like everything else."

Fenris raised an eyebrow. "Hawke, I'd be dead because I didn't keep an eye open for reinforcements, not because of you. And what do you mean, 'everything else'?"

Hawke averted his eyes. "Because of me, because of what I started in Kirkwall, there's a civil war tearing apart half the continent. Innocent people are dying every day because of me. When you'd go out to hunt slavers, you were saving the people I helped to ruin. Don't you see? If I'd done something differently - done anything differently - maybe things would have been alright."

"Is that why you left me? Because I was hunting slavers?" Fenris mentally kicked himself for his defensive tone, but Hawke didn't seem to notice.

"I'd heard from Varric a few weeks before I left. I'd been planning to join him and help out the Inquisition, but I knew you'd want to come with me. I didn't know many details, but I knew there'd been a hole in the sky and the templars were all losing their minds. If I brought you with me, you'd have been in so much more danger than hunting Tevinters in Ferelden. I'm already to blame for so much death. I couldn't bear to live knowing you'd died to save me from danger. And I was right to leave you. I know you, Fenris. Stroud died fighting a demon to save the rest of us. If you'd been there, you'd have never let him stay behind." Hawke's voice faltered.

Summoning his strength, Fenris raised himself and reached over to pull off Hawke's shirt. Hawke didn't resist, and slipped between the quilts when Fenris raised them invitingly. The two lay together, face to face, the only sounds their breathing and the fire crackling.

Unused to being the one offering comfort, Fenris shyly stroked Hawke’s cheek. “You can’t save me.” Hawke tried to protest, but Fenris laid his hand gently over his lover’s lips. “No, Hawke. I have no idea why we’re even here, but you must have known I’d travel Thedas the moment I found out where you were. I don’t fear death, but to be forced to stay behind again, to be shut out again...please don’t make me go through that.”

His energy spent, Fenris felt himself slipping into sleep. “Promise me, Hawke.”

Hawke rested his forehead against Fenris’. “I promise,” he whispered. Fenris’ breathing steadied as sleep claimed him. Hawke pressed himself to Fenris’ body and allowed himself to relax for the first time in months. The days ahead would be difficult, but he wouldn’t face them alone.


	2. Chapter 2

The boy's screams had turned to moans, then to whimpers. Bethany's voice could be heard through the tent's canvas as she cast spells and crooned soothing words. The others sat in silence around the fire: Anders preparing a potion to ease the boy's pain when he woke; Hawke polishing his shield in the same small circle over and over as he started into the flames; Fenris cleaning the gore from his sword as he watched the tent for signs of movement.

They'd barely broken a sweat defeating the three Venatori. With their forces being ever-pushed-back by the Inquisition, more and more Venatori were making their way North. In their week on the road, Hawke’s group had encountered four small Venatori camps. Each time, they'd dealt with the Tevinter mages quickly and moved on. Tonight, however, they hadn't needed to sweep the camp for survivors. The elven boy's groans of pain had led them to the tent in which he lay half-senseless on blankets spattered with blood and reeking of semen. He was no older than eighteen years, and it was clear the Venatori had been using him ruthlessly.

Bethany had been with him since. Anders had greater skill in healing, but when he'd touched the young man the elf had panicked. Only Bethany could touch him, and even then he wouldn't speak to her. The men had left her to help the boy as best she could.

When she emerged from the tent hours later, Bethany's face was grey and drawn. Hawke rose immediately and embraced his sister. She rested in Hawke's arms for only a few minutes before recovering herself enough to rejoin the group. Hawke sat beside her; she leaned into him.

"He couldn't tell me much. He was a Circle mage, and the Venatori found him on the road. The poor thing...they tore him apart. Anders, you should take a look at him while he's asleep. I did my best, but I was never much of a healer."

Anders rose. “If he’s a mage, hopefully he won’t mind a little magic to help keep him under. I’ll see what I can do.”

The three remaining companions sat in silence around the fire. Fenris noticed Hawke's increasing agitation, and wasn't surprised when Hawke rose, buckled on his sword, and headed beyond the firelight and into the desert.

Bethany raised an eyebrow at Fenris, but he shook his head. "Let him go. He needs a few minutes."

Bethany sighed. "He's been better since you came. Especially since you got well. But he won't talk to me, Fenris. He always told me everything. Now he's like a ghost. Does he talk to you?"

Fenris hesitated, unwilling to betray Hawke's confidence. "He feels...guilty. As if the war and Corypheus are his fault. If anything, the war's _his_  fault," Fenris nodded toward the tent through which Anders could be heard muttering spells, "but Hawke takes it all on himself." He paused and stared into the fire. "I don't know what to do."

The two sat silently for a while, waiting. When Bethany rose, she laid her hand on Fenris' shoulder as she passed. "Garrett told me he left you in Ferelden. If he hasn't told me you'd been sent a letter to join him up here, I'd have written you myself." Usually so averse to being touched by anyone but Hawke, Fenris reached up to clasp Bethany's hand. When she’d rushed into his sick room only hours after Hawke had returned to the fortress after a week-long scouting mission, Bethany had proved true to the pet name Varric had given her. She was a ray of sunshine against Hawke’s stormclouds. Her time as a Warden had hardened Bethany, but she was still full of laughter and a ready joke at her big brother’s expense. She was as worried about Hawke as Fenris was.

Fenris’ brow was furrowed when he looked up at her. "I don't know how much good I've done him. But thank you."

Bethany squeezed his hand, then retired for the night. Fenris waited another hour before heading to his and Hawke's tent, hoping he wouldn't be alone in the morning.

***

Awakened by low voices, Fenris instinctively reached for his sword with one hand and tried to rouse Hawke with the other. When he grasped only empty space, he reoriented himself. It was still deep night, and the firelight shone two silhouettes onto his tent's canvas. The voices were soft, but clearly male. Hawke had returned.

Unwilling to get involved in a conversation which would almost certainly make him angry - which in turn would further upset Hawke - and unable to keep himself from overhearing, Fenris couldn't help but listen in on the conversation that was deteriorating into an argument. Anders' voice had changed; there was no sign of the usual sarcastic, joking tone which drove Fenris insane. Instead, he seemed truly upset.

"Then why didn't you cut off my head? If someone has to pay for this, why didn't you just kill me? Maker knows Fenris would have cut me in half if he'd had his way. So why am I still alive?"

A pause, then Hawke spoke, his voice defeated. "Honestly, I hardly know myself. I've never felt betrayed like I felt that night. But killing you...would have felt like closing a door. Like cutting off something - someone - who might have more to give. Someone who might be able to help fix the mess we were in. Besides, if I'd killed you years ago, Fenris would have died from his wounds as soon as the Wardens got him into Weisshaupt."

"And now? Why not just surprise Fenris with a gift by telling him you'd like him to rearrange my internal organs?"

Hawke laughed harshly. "For what? I never hated you. I don't hate you now."

"You're doing a fair job of hating yourself. I'm the one who blew up the damned Chantry. There wouldn't be a civil war otherwise, but I've never pretended to feel sorry for what I did. Stop taking this all on yourself.”

Hawke rose; his shadow moved across the firelight. “I'm thrilled that you've got a clear conscience. I don't. Do you think the kid in that tent would be here right now if Corypheus was still locked away? How many like him are there?" Hawke's shadow slumped where he stood. "I don't even know what I'm still doing up here. I thought I owed it to the Wardens to help them rebuild, but your leaders aren't interested in hearing what really happened at Adamant. There’s been a dark mood in that fortress for weeks now. And if that wasn't enough, I nearly got Fenris killed. I should have told Varric not to write him."

Another pause. When Anders next spoke, his voice was strained with emotion. "Hawke, I've cared about you for as long as I've hated Fenris. Longer, even. If he'd died that day, I'd have danced on his grave. But...he loves you. You love each other. He doesn't blame you. And by blaming yourself - by killing yourself with this guilt - you're hurting him."

Anders rose, and his voice became fainter as he walked toward his tent. "You have to move on. Otherwise...you may as well have died with your brother."

Fenris waited, listening to the silence that had descended on the camp. When he was sure Anders had retired for the night, he slipped out of the tent and sat beside Hawke, whose shoulders shook as he buried his head in his hands. They sat for what seemed an age, Fenris leaning against Hawke, letting his lover know he wouldn't leave him alone. When Hawke's sobs subsided, he pulled Fenris close; their foreheads rested together as Hawke regained control.

Soft groans once again came from the wounded boy's tent. Wordlessly, Fenris took Hawke's hand and led him inside. The young man now lay on his back. His face was pale, but not the deathly white of the previous day. Fenris crouched beside him. When the boy's eyes opened, they flashed with panic, but seeing a fellow elf calmed him. Fenris drew a vial from his belt and held it to the boy's mouth.

"It's alright. Trust me, it will help the pain." The boy drank eagerly; within moments, his breathing calmed and the pain in his eyes cleared. He cast furtive glances toward Hawke, but he was clearly satisfied that this warrior was no Venatori.

Softly, hesitantly, the boy spoke. "What will you do with me?"

Fenris tucked away the empty vial. "We'll stay here until you're well enough to travel. You don't have to fear the mages travelling with us. Only a few weeks ago I took a dagger to the lung and nearly bled to death. One of the mages with us saved my life and helped me heal. He won't hurt you like the Magisters did."

The boy nodded. After a moment of thought, he replied, "And when I can walk again? What then?"

Fenris looked to Hawke, whose discomfort was clear. "Hawke? How will you help him?"

Hawke met the boy's searching, desperate gaze. For a moment, his guilt fell away. "We'll take you to Weisshaupt. You can join the Wardens if you wish, or you can travel from there. Or you can help us. Our fight isn't finished, and Thedas has its eyes turned away from the Anderfels. We can use the help, especially with so many mages dead."

Fenris turned back to the boy. With a protective air usually reserved only for Hawke, he tucked the clean blanket securely around the elf and squeezed his arm. "No decisions for now. You’re not a slave, and you never will be again. There’s no shame in what they did to you. You’re safe, now. It’s alright to sleep." Calmed and freed from pain, the boy drifted off. Hawke and Fenris left quietly and walked through the early dawn mist back to their tent.

Once inside, Hawke grabbed Fenris and held him close. Fenris laid his forehead against Hawke's chest. "If we hadn't been here, the Venatori would be raping that young man to death right now. Because you came to Weisshaupt, he's alive and three more Venatori aren't a danger any longer" He looked up into Hawke's eyes, which were still red with tears. "Blame will eat you alive. You've helped weaken my chains. I can't watch you forge your own. I'm not asking you to put down this burden overnight. Just promise me you'll try. I...I miss you."

Hawke nodded. "I'll try. I promise." He leaned down to take Fenris' mouth with his own.

Without a word, they sought each other's bodies in the cold morning light. Worry and care fell away as easily as their clothing. Hawke’s breath came raggedly as Fenris’ mouth descended to tease his nipples, then moved down his body to engulf his erection. Fenris licked and sucked eagerly, desperate to touch the man he loved for the first time in months. After weeks of recovery and anxiety, the lovers were as eager as young men who’d just come into their sex. Hawke was ready within minutes. He fumbled within his pack for a flask of oil; after hastily applying it to himself, he pressed Fenris onto the blankets, mounted the elf’s body, and rode him as his tongue plundered Fenris’ mouth. Guilt was forgotten for passion, and the seed that spilled from their bodies soothed memories of the past months even as it stoked their anticipation of the nights to come.

 


End file.
